Let's misbehave
by Trogir
Summary: "When I'm done with my shower I expect you to be gone," you inform him curtly. You don't like that bright smile. You don't like it one little bit. It's dreadfully pretty. Unspeakably perfect.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Smoke. White, thick cloud, smirking at you from above.

Breathe.

Inhale. Exhale.

You little sucker... Suck it harder. Lick it. Lick the tip. Lick the whole wide length. Smell it.

You're awfully pale, you sick? There... I'll fix that. I have magic balls.

Mmm, it burns, I know. But it hurts so good.

One drag after another. Come on. Try it.

Until. Everything. Turns. Black.

You wake up in the morning. Can't really say is that an ass or shaved head, there, between your sheets. God, you must have been royally high last night. Although... Nah. That is one piece of gorgeous, bubble butt. You smirk, glad that despite your wicked ways, at an elderly age of thirty-one, you still managed to maintain an excellent taste.

You smack his buttocks either way and tell the poor guy to get the fuck out. Only that... He doesn't. You growl and push him a little. Holy fuck, is he...? You look at the random mosaic of condoms spread on the floor around your bed. Has he had a heart attack?

Cigarette butts in the ashtray and one joint. Huh. Obviously the night was decent enough since you shared your stash.

Suddenly you're not so glad it's a one big blur.

You sit up and roll the numb stranger on his back. For the first time you look him straight in the eyes. They are closed shut.

At that moment everything just... Stops. You can feel cold, clear stream of consciousness surround you in the most unpleasant way.

Realization. Hits you. Straight in the balls. And then...

He snored.

Son of a bitch!

"Get up!"

He opens one eye. Blue is definitely your color. Hm. Okay. Five more minutes, Sonny Boy. Just you know that - I thought you were dead. You owe me. Asshole.

"When I'm done with my shower I expect you to be gone," you inform him curtly.

You don't like that bright smile.

You don't like it one little bit.

It's dreadfully pretty.

Unspeakably perfect.

"I told you to get out, didn't I?" All you manage was a light snort.

You're getting old.

"I know. I heard you. But I was hungry."

"So you thought you'd rob my fridge before leaving? Charming."

No one should look that good while cooking... Sipping coffee from the only mug present in your loft. With a broken handle, at that.

Wearing only a t-shirt that barely covers his smooth butt.

"That's mine," you growl, eyeing the band logo on the t-shirt.

"Really?"

Oh, he's definitely too smug and you're too sober to tolerate that.

"Trust me. When I was masturbating to the frontman's photos, you were still a sperm."

"Ha. Ha. You're..."

"I know. Now. Get the fuck out. I'm gonna be late for work, you... I don't know. You'll miss your algebra."

"I'm nineteen!"

"That's no excuse to harass me. Dress up. Get out. Close the door. Goodbye, bon voyage, jog on, fuck off."

"I'm not finished yet."

He actually sat on your barstool and got back to the coffee.

Okay. You're definitely done being nice.

You took his clothes and threw them out the door.

Well. Actually...

"Brian, what the fuck?!"

You threw them at Michael.

All right. That... Was just too much.

"My mistake." You smiled the best you could, considering the circumstances. "I'm glad you're here thought. Get rid of that. I'm going to work."

Michael looked at the blond, who waved at him happily, sitting on the stool, his short legs in the air.

"_That's_ why you called me yesterday? _Four_ in the morning?"

Huh.

Curiouser and curiouser...


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Oh. God.

Mikey. Just... Stop. I'm begging you. I love you but sometimes you just... Can't. Stop. With the fucking moaning!

You almost punch him in the annoyingly loving face.

Can't he be angry at you? Not the pretend anger, just... Can't he hit you and get it over with?_ Why all those words..._?!

It would have helped. Really. Light punch. Not so much to break your perfect nose, though.

Apparently you called him yesterday to announce you're getting married. Amazing.

Somebody kill me now. Anybody? Help...

"So are you?" he finally stops talking.

Oh sweet Jesus, the silence!

"Am I what?" you drawl, massaging your temples. "I'm definitely late now, if that's what you mean."

But somehow you have a feeling that Michael is concerned about something less important. Utterly annoying little teen is not only _not_ gone, he drank your coffee and proceeded to consume the rest of your Cheerios. Fucking brat.

"If you're asking whether I'm getting married, I'm gonna stop you right there before you say something stupid and I'll have to fulfill the unpleasant, yet necessary, obligation of killing you on the spot."

"Ha. Ha."

"Can I go now?"

You really tried to smile. What you did looked like was... The kind of a face expression that lion makes while preparing for a slaughter? Only more toothy. And evil. Generally the kind that would make Freddy Krueger shit his pants.

"Brian, you have your own company, you can be late."

"When it's justified. Right now I see no reason why I should still be here. Same goes for you." You pointed at the blond, who smiled at you yet again so brightly, his teeth perfect, his lips covered in milk.

Ah, the dirty connotations.

"Get. Out."

"I'm eating!" he pointed at the bowl.

"You can keep it. Keep the fucking shirt! Get. OUT! Get out!"

You pushed him and Michael towards the elevator, closed the loft and angrily pushed the button. The elevator must've been against you as well. After ten seconds you growled and impatiently ran down the stairs.

The annoying teen calmly ate his cereal (_your _cereal!) and looked at Michael, as if he was a very interesting phenomenon.

"What's his name?"

"His name?" Michael shook his head. "It used to be Brian Kinney."

"Used to?"

The teen had no shame whatsoever, peacefully picking up his clothes and dressing up, oblivious to Michael's stares. He kept the shirt, obviously.

"The older he gets the stronger urge I feel to call him after some crazy cartoon character. I'm deciding between Squidward and Grinch."

Strangest thing occurred to Michael – last night the kid really must have wrapped Brian around his finger with this beautiful laughter.

He looked really hopeful. Michael almost felt bad about this one, having to break it through to his pretty blond head.

"Come on. I can drive you home."

You _shouldn't_ feel guilty about Brian's bad life decisions! Argh!

"No need. I should go to work as well. Maybe I'll see you around?"

"I don't think so, kid. It'll be better for you if you just forget about him."

"Brian? Meh. He'll come around."

Strange kid. It was almost as if he had some crazy plan to...

Oh no, wait. A very familiar, very flashy and definitely not cheap cell phone appeared in blonde's hand. He smiled evilly like he'd just told Mr. Bond he expects him to die.

Okay. Let's rephrase that. He _had_ some crazy, evil plot to... Kidnap? Marry? Seduce... _Brian Kinney_?


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Get over it already. You and I are not gonna happen."

The way he looks at you, right here, right now, is able to melt the hardest of hearts. Unfortunately your stare is made for burning bridges behind you.

"Too late. It already did. Face it, you liked it and wouldn't mind if it happened again."

"Actually, I would. But as long as you're not making a shrine out of my eyelashes it's all good."

He smiles and proceeds mixing drinks for some desperate girls who probably have a crush on each other.

"Just give me the phone, you little raccoon and be glad I won't file any theft charges."

You're starting to lose your patience. Not good. Might mean you're starting to care and you're too busy and important to do that.

"Raccoon?"

"Thief mask."

Did you just make a bad joke in front of a trick? What's going on.

"Face it, you like me. You found me in five seconds and came to my workplace just to get your phone. You wanted to see me."

Fucking twink is pressing himself on the bar counter, looking into your eyes and completely ignoring the fact that yours are shooting daggers.

"Give me my phone back, you little shit."

"You forgot the magic word."

"Now!"

He reluctantly took it out of his back pocket.

"Thank you. Now just accept the fact that I'm not your cup of tea and we'll all survive."

You take your expensive coat from the obscure bar chair and try not to shake it off too much.

"I might not be your cup of tea but I surely was your tenth shot of tequila."

God, that's why you fucked him so hard. Because of that mischievous smirk right there.

"Listen, kid. One of us has to be wrong and it's not going to be me so just forget about me and sleep hugging my t-shirt, okay?"

"It's not going to be so easy."

"Try. Get a therapist and let's see each other never."

"You're going to have to divorce me first."

Is there a word in the English dictionary for impressed, yet disgusted? How needy can he be?

"And then I flew us to New York on a magic carpet. _Right._"

"Well, it looks legit. I don't know what else to tell you, Mr. Kinney. Under the laws of the state of New York you are hereby married to one Justin Taylor. I guess congratulations are in order?"

You were toying with the idea of a mass murder for the past half an hour you spent in this useless attorney's office.

"Mr. Kinney? Mr. Kinney, are you all right?"

"Perfect."

Your teeth are clenched so hard they grind when you speak.

"I'm gonna kill that piece of shit."

"I'm sorry?"

"Thank you for your time."

You storm out of the office and mash the marriage papers in your hand. Your cigarettes are gone and so will be your money if you ever divorce him. Prenup was obviously the last thing on your mind when he shook that bubble butt in front of your dick.

You start to scream and some old lady screams profanities right back at you from her window. It started to rain and your car doesn't start. You bang your head on the steering wheel and loud, piercing sound of the horn fills your head.

When normal people come across someone over and over again, they think it's faith. You are beginning to think this is some spiteful curse.

"I figured you are going to want to talk to me so I saved you the trouble."

Fucking twink at your door. Normally you'd be happy about this home delivery. Except this one is literary entitled to half of what you own and probably your right ball too.

Last night still comes back to you in blurred snap shots and it's a very unusual surprise that when he kisses you there are still fireworks.

You crash his lips, you squeeze him and bruise him and press him hard to the brick wall. You want to punish him, you want to hurt him and this is the only way that won't get you in trouble - or so you think. You are a great kisser so you leave him hard and horny and slam the loft's door shut.

Permission to come on board - denied.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Brian, if you're gonna keep this up you will soon have to found some 'Brian Kinney post-traumatic stress' support group!"

"Your point being, Mikey?"

"Stop. It's your third whiskey, it's two in the afternoon, gimme that!"

"Fuck off."

"No, you fuck off! You're not twenty anymore!"

"So? I could still pass for twenty-five."

"No, no you could not. I'm sorry, Brian, but you're too old to fuck around. You completely lost control, what happened with that kid just proves it. You cannot..."

"Get out, Michael. I mean it. Get the fuck out."

"Don't fucking snarl at me, Brian! You know I'm right. What if he was some sort of scammer, huh? He could easily take all your fucking money, Brian! Right this fucking second, do you understand me?! The kid owns you from top to bottom including the underwear!"

"It's a good thing I'm not wearing any, then."

"Brian!"

You chuckle and then start coughing. You smoked a whole pack yesterday, analyzing every possible scenario. Yesterday it was all tough and serious. Today... You passed the worrying on Mikey. You're starting to treat this like a huge practical joke that backfired. The kid won't do anything with you or your money. He is not stupid, he knows you'd hunt him down and hung him high on his balls.

"All right. You have to go now. I have to go. Everybody's busy and..."

"Brian. Just one more thing. What the fuck happened that night? Did he give you something...? Oh fucking stop with that face, I know what else he gave you, I meant drugs! You usually don't pass out and forget."

"Well. There was a sling and tequila. It was glorious. Then somebody threw some glitter which was really like the icing on top. Let's go."

"Thanks for the lesson on dirty dancing, kid."

"Brian! What the hell... What are you doing here?"

"Came to see my trophy wife. You?"

"Working. Are you drunk at three in the afternoon?"

"Could be. Did you get that therapist?"

"No. But I'm definitely seeing how the world is a different place when I'm actually getting some."

"Good boy. Get your leash, we're going."

"Nothing has changed since the past five seconds – I'm still working. You can pick me up at six."

"I'm not going to fucking pick you up, let's go!"

"Well, then. You have two choices. Get the fuck out of my part of the counter and bother someone else or stop blocking the line, sit the fuck down and order something."

His smile was like a chocolate cupcake with a grenade hidden at the bottom.

You sit down by the counter and with every inch of your existence try not to kill him. Although there is always that thought of bending him over your knee and spanking the obedience out of that white ass.

"Fine. Double black Jack on the rocks."

Here's that smirk again.

"Sure, Mr. Basic Instinct."

Okay, he simply cannot know any good movies. He's a kid and too young for Michael Douglas.

"Jesus, Brian. You could make a stripper uncomfortable by eye fucking her like that."

Well, what do you know. This could turn out to be less painful than you imagined.

"You know, you should come with a disclaimer that reads 'bad at basic human relations and defensive when confronted about it'".

"Stop being a smart-ass. At least tonight you're not walking here alone. I bet even cats are shitting their pants while walking into the alleys."

"If you had a cat I bet he would wear Armani, you snob."

"Hey. Hands off the high fashion, peasant."

This actually feels comfortable. He took your car keys and you bit him for that but other than that you feel like you could get him to sign the divorce papers without any losses.

At the same time... Some feeling that you prefer to keep nameless is slowly creeping down your spine. It's unknown but yet not entirely unpleasant and kind of warm. It slowly reaches out with his soft black paws, testing its new territory.

"This is me. Goodnight."

You raise your eyebrow. Really? He lives in a small terraced house that looks more like a tool shed.

"Come here, kid."

"I really wish you would stop calling me that."

"I don't care."

You pulled him by his jacket and kissed him on the lips. It was all but soft and tender but then again you were quite drunk. He didn't seem to mind but when your hand started creeping to his pocket he pushed it away. Sly little foxy.

"You're not getting your keys."

You looked at him and it was meant to be harsh and scary, not make him laugh, dammit!

"Tell you what, gorgeous. You can sleep on the couch."

Hell no! Brian Kinney takes no couches! You had to chase him to the house with your new murderous glare since he wasn't waiting for you.

What has the world come to.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

You remind yourself to breath when he does that thing again.

He knows he drives you mad but he doesn't care in the slightest. He swirls his tongue around your nipples and it feels like he could make you cum without touching your dick once.

He bites on them and you actually give out a soft, _whimpery_ moan. Oh God.

"You are not going anywhere until I give you something to think about at work."

Fucking tease.

"It's not like I'm complaining..."

"Aren't you hungover after tonight?"

"After we broke your couch I think you pretty much made me sweat it all out."

He chuckled and licked a small path towards your crotch.

"You are weird."

"What?"

"I mean... First you like me, then you hate me. Now you're letting me lick you all over and most probably add some chocolate syrup to it all."

"Are we really discussing it right now?"

**Most importantly **– does he _have_ chocolate syrup?

You moaned, this time louder. He grabbed the base of your cock and started stroking. Hard, a little bit too hard, and slowly. Fucking kid turned you into a moaner overnight and he knows he's driving you crazy.

He smeared the pre-cum with his thumb and licked it, fucking _licked it off _and made sure you were watching - judging by his triumphant smirk.

"Yes. Yes we are. You are on my territory, so be polite and honest and you just might get into my pants again."

"You're not wearing any and I'd prefer to get into your... _Fuck!_"

"_I said_ - be nice."

He squeezed your balls, although gently. He pulled them down in case you had any ideas of cumming.

You growl and snarl but close your eyes and let him work his magic.

"Good."

When he took his hands off you thought the conversation's over but then he took it to a brand new level. You heard the condom being opened. He put it on your cock and then slowly eased himself on it, biting his lips and breathing heavily.

"You look like a porn star."

"And you know you love it."

"It was just an observation."

You grabbed his hips so hard you made sure there would be bruises. He looked you straight in the eye and demanded to be spanked.

"Come here."

You pulled him closer and made him grab your shoulders for balance. You gave him a few slaps on those gorgeous buttocks which made him cry out your name and move faster on your dick.

"I know you won't divorce me," he whispered to your ear.

His breath was hot and heavy.

"You won't find a better piece of ass."

Damn kid was right again but you'd be damned before giving him any satisfaction.

You roll over him and bury yourself balls-deep into his ass, looking him in the eye and making him look right back at you.

You stay silent and close your eyes. You let him cum first and right before your own orgasm you bury your face in the curve of his neck.

You both lay still for a while. There is no need for words, no need for any declarations. Today you decide to take a day off.

You can always divorce him tomorrow.

_fin_


End file.
